


Undercover Agent

by hotchoco195



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Come As You Aren't, Episode Related, M/M, Reunion Sex, S02E02, Some feels, Tumblr Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 14:02:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2583974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotchoco195/pseuds/hotchoco195
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Coulson's latest lapse, all he wants to do is sleep. Former Agent Barton has other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undercover Agent

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Captainwondyful's Tumblr challenge, with the idea being to write a fic outside your usual style for Halloween. I chose Clint/Coulson, and it turned out to be a lot more fun than I thought.

Phil sighed as he closed the bedroom door, rolling the kinks out of his muscles. Even with the ladder he still always managed to strain his arms reaching to the top of the board. Why couldn’t the weirdness in his head keep things a bit smaller and more manageable? Phil was all about manageable. As a handler it had been his whole life, and now as Director...well. Things were different now.

He undid his shirt buttons slowly, wincing as something caught. There was a strange buzz along the left side of his face, a tingling of nerves that made him pause, and then his aches were forgotten as he drew his gun, spinning to face the intruder.

“Hey Phil,” Clint drawled, leaning against his chest of drawers, “Something you forgot to tell me?”

Phil lowered the gun. “Clint? What are you-”

A fist hit him squarely in the mouth and Coulson stumbled back, landing on the bed with a thud as his knees hit the edge of the mattress.

“You don’t call, you don’t write,” the archer spat angrily, stalking towards him, “Did you leave your manners in the afterlife?”

Coulson lifted himself onto his elbows. “I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

“That you weren’t dead or that SHIELD was compromised and you needed me?”

“I didn’t want to pull you out of wherever you were. I didn’t want to distract you from the mission.”

“Or maybe it was just more convenient to let me keep thinking it, huh? Did you get tired of me, Coulson?”

Phil set his jaw grimly. “Never.”

Clint’s eye twitched and then he was straddling the agent, fingers curled desperately in his shirt as he slammed their lips together. Phil raised a hand to cup the back of his head, burrowing into Clint’s hair. He kissed him for a moment, drinking in the familiar comfort before something twinged in his shoulders and made him jerk back with a gasp.

“You okay?” Clint breathed.

“We shouldn’t do this now – there’s too much to talk about. Things are different.”

“Oh I know,” he smirked, wriggling in Phil’s lap, “Do I have to call you Director when we’re doin’ it? Cos that could be hot.”

“It’s not just the agency. I’m different. The things they did to bring me back...changed me.”

“Okaaaaay,” Clint frowned, “Changed you how? You seem like the same old Phil to me.”

“I’m not. It’s part of the reason I didn’t try to contact you – I had some stuff to figure out first.”

“What stuff? God, would you stop being evasive for five seconds?”

Phil sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. Clint’s frown deepened and the archer swung his leg over, falling onto the bed beside the older man.

“It’s okay, Phil. You know what I always say; no matter how bad it seems, I’ve probably done worse.”

That at least got a wry smile out of the director. He gave another sigh, straightening up. “So I got stabbed.”

“Very aware. Skip to the next bit.”

“Before Loki’s arrival on Earth, Director Fury had me reviewing a process to potentially bring someone back from the dead. It was supposed to be part of the Avengers Initiative; a fallback if something happened to one of the team.”

“You never told me that.”

“I never told anyone. It was highest level classification, and now I know why.”

“Alright. They used this process on you and brought you back.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that.”

“Tell me.”

 

Coulson told him all of it; he didn’t spare Clint the awful and painful parts the way he did everyone else. It was okay. Clint could handle it, could look at Phil the same even after he knew. Clint Barton didn’t believe in pity. Phil had always liked that.

He told him about his attempts to find out more about T.A.H.I.T.I, about the bunker, about the video May found with his recommendation to Fury. He told him about the doctor, and then somehow it all just flowed on into his team and HYDRA and losing Ward, and Garrett’s betrayal and Fury being alive and suddenly being fugitives. It felt good to clear his head, to finally have someone he could tell his every thought to and not worry about it.

Phil told Clint about his episodes in a very quiet voice, about May’s instructions to watch him, and the building pressure to get out something he couldn’t understand.

“That’s why I didn’t call,” he muttered, “I didn’t want you near me if something...happened. If whatever’s wrong with me turned bad.”

Clint reached out a hand and wrapped his fingers around Phil’s, squeezing gently before giving a huge snort.

“Jesus, that’s all?”

“All?” Phil raised a brow, “Are you kidding?”

“Uh, Earth to Coulson – I recently had a thousand-year-old deity playing around in my head. You don’t think I’m going to suddenly spaz out and go evil again, do you?”

“No.”

“Then why would you think I’d be afraid of you and your mysterious condition?”

“Because the effects of the Tesseract are long done, and this is something I’m living with every day. I’m trying to protect you, Clint!”

“Well you never bothered when I was your agent, so why start now? You always trusted that I could look after myself, and here I find you surrounded by strangers that you think are more up to the task than me.”

“That’s not-”

“I’m offended, actually. You’re rebuilding SHIELD from the ground up and I didn’t even get an invite. No ‘Hey Clint, we could use your skills and charm and devastatingly firm ass’. Did you think I’d just shrug my shoulders and go back to my old life?”

Phil bit his lip. “No.”

“Then what the hell, Phil? I thought...I thought we meant something to each other.”

“We do.” His eyes flashed.

“Then you don’t get to shut me out whenever you feel like it. I’m grown up enough to make my own decisions.”

Coulson snorted and Clint wrinkled his nose.

“Well, most of the time.”

“I’m sorry. I should have given you more credit.”

“Damn straight.”

Phil raised a hand to stroke Clint’s jaw and smiled. “I missed you, if it helps.”

“It does.”

 

Clint wrapped his arms around the director’s neck, wriggling into his lap. He walked his fingers slowly from Phil’s shoulder to his stomach.

“Which parts did you miss?”

“All of it.”

“That’s an evasive answer, Director. Be more specific.”

“Your sense of humour.” Coulson smiled, expression twitching as Clint trailed his hand lower, brushing the top of his thighs.

“Right? I’m freakin’ hilarious. What else?”

“Your arms.”

He chuckled. “Oh Director, I’m sure there’s plenty of training footage if you need to scratch that itch.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“You want the genuine article?”

Phil seized him around the waist. “Always.”

The laughter left Clint’s eyes, replaced by a fierce light as he swooped in to kiss the director. Phil closed his fingers in Clint’s short hair, using his other hand to rip open his protective vest. He forced it down Clint’s arms and shoved it to the floor, hands gripping the hem of his undershirt and tugging upwards insistently.

“Whoa, whoa,” the archer sat back with a smile, “Where’s the fire?”

“I’m about to show you.”

Phil started on his shirt buttons, Clint smiling at the serious set of his jaw. He shrugged, lifting the tee over his head.

“You’re the boss.”

“That’s right, I am. You might have to learn to show a little respect, Barton.”

“I didn’t do it for Fury – what makes you think I’ll shape up for you?”

“Oh, I can provide a few incentives.”

Coulson tugged his arms out of his sleeves and stripped off his undershirt, looking up as Clint inhaled stiffly. The archer’s eyes were fixed on his chest, more specifically the jagged pink ridge over his heart.

“Clint?”

“Sorry,” his head snapped up, “I shouldn’t have – I mean I knew it was there-”

“It’s okay.”

The younger man looked sceptical but Coulson took his hand and rested it over the scar, holding it in place.

“Guess Loki left his marks on both of us, huh?”

Clint gave him a rueful smile. “Guy sure made an impression.”

Phil leaned forward and kissed his collarbone, turning his head to rest his cheek against the warm muscle. “But we survived.”

 

Clint pushed him away, forcing the agent flat on the bed. His hand cupped Coulson’s groin firmly.

“You know what I missed most about you?”

Phil shook his head, trying to keep his breathing calm. Clint unbuckled his belt, popped the button and dragged the zip down slowly.

“The cute little way you grunt when you’re fucking me senseless.”

“That’s pretty specific.”

“Well I thought about it a _lot_.” He growled, squeezing Phil’s swelling member hard enough to make him gasp.

The archer wrestled Phil’s pants down his thighs, one hand coming to rest on his good shoulder while the other wrapped around his dick, lazily sliding up and down as he kept up his firm squeeze. Coulson bit the inside of his cheek, eyes fixed on the younger man’s sultry smirk. Clint was always spectacular at playing wanton and disobedient, and the casual cockiness of his expression as he stroked undid something in the director’s head, broke through some wall. He was going to show Barton who was in charge here.

Phil sat up, shoving Clint to the mattress. He attacked his pants, getting the fly open with all the speed and dexterity of a man who could assemble a semi-automatic rifle blindfolded. He jerked them off, tutting at Clint’s bare crotch.

“I’m pretty sure we issued you field underwear as standard.”

“Haven’t you heard? SHIELD’s given its last briefing.” He beamed.

Phil rolled his eyes but otherwise ignored the pun. His hands roamed up Clint’s legs, feeling the taut, solid lines and tracing the scars that littered his torso. Phil kneaded the incredibly toned lengths of his arms, fingers trailing down to Clint’s hands and the calluses that covered them like armour. He leaned over more, curling his palm around the archer’s balls.

“You sure you’re up to this, sir?” Clint breathed heavily, tone temporarily serious.

“Don’t question a superior officer, agent.”

“I just mean, I can take the lead if you-”

“Clint? Shut up.”

Phil reinforced the sentiment by shoving his finger in the agent’s mouth, swirling slightly until he got the hint and sucked on the digit. The director drew it out again and pressed the tip to Clint’s entrance, slowly circling the tight ring of muscle. They’d need proper lube to go any further but he didn’t mind watching the archer squirm for a bit first.

He pushed against Clint’s perineum, enjoying the way he arched his back. His two hands worked together, caressing the younger man’s balls teasingly while Phil made long, lazy sweeps across his entrance. At times he grazed the bobbing tip of Clint’s cock but never enough to get more than a sharp inhale in return, fingers constantly moving.

“Come on, Coulson. I’m dyin’ over here.” He gnawed at his bottom lip.

Phil acted like he hadn’t heard.

“Have pity on a poor soul, Director?”

He still didn’t speed up. Clint half sat up, grabbing his wrist until the other man made eye contact with him.

“Please, Phil.”

 

Coulson kissed him, hands rough against his jaw. Clint held on desperately, pawing at the director’s shoulders.

“Lie back.” he said gently.

Clint settled against the pillows while Phil went through his bedside drawer and took out a small tube.

“Were you expecting me?” the archer smirked.

“Always prepared.”

Coulson squeezed the lube onto his fingers, rubbing them together before reaching between Clint’s legs. The agent spread his thighs helpfully, angling himself up. Phil smeared the excess slick around his entrance, eyes on Clint as he slid the tip of one finger in. He probed further, giving the younger man as much as he thought he could take, carefully watching the shifting expressions on Clint’s face.

Phil slowly opened him up, always precise and deliberate with his movements. He stretched Clint enough to get a second finger in, and then a third, until the archer was writhing against the pillows and grinding his teeth.

“For God’s sake Phil, hurry up and fuck me!”

“You want it?”

“Yes!”

“Then you can wait for it.”

Clint laughed. “Sadist.”

“Masochist.”

“Guess we’re perfect for each other, huh?” he smiled goofily.

Phil thrust hard, wiping the look off his face, and used his free hand to upend the lube in his palm and start coating himself. Clint’s needy expression changed to plain arousal as the director moved closer, the head of his shaft butting against the place where his fingers disappeared into Clint’s passage.

“Barton?”

“Get a fucking move on before I explode, sir.”

Phil smiled to himself and wiggled his hand free, pushing forward in the same moment. He gripped Clint’s hips as he forced his way in, groaning under his breath with each hot, vice-like inch.

“Christ Phil, don’t hold back on me now.” He chuckled.

He swung his pelvis up, swallowing Coulson almost to the hilt, and the older man grunted. If Clint wanted it rough and urgent, he could deliver. After all, he was sick of waiting too.

 

Phil tightened his hold and buried himself the last bit, not giving Clint time to adjust before he pulled out and thrust in again. He slammed their bodies together, toes curling against the sheets as he shoved himself forwards. Phil shifted his hands to Clint’s wrists, pinning them to the mattress, face so close to the archer’s. They both knew he could get free in a second, and that he wouldn’t, because deep down Clint Barton only ever belonged to one person – no matter how many tried to claim him.

Phil pumped his hips, Clint’s legs wrapping around his back and crossing at the ankles to lock in place. The squeeze around his ribs spurred him on, the two men entwined so tight Phil could barely get any momentum. They ground against each other, Clint finally taking advantage of a slip in Phil’s concentration to get his hands free and wrap his fingers around the director’s sac. He held on as best he could, the flesh slippery, his other hand curling around his own erection and stroking hard.

Phil’s grunts got louder at the helpless look on Clint’s face as he jerked himself off, his head dropping into the crook of the archer’s neck as he thrust so that each low mutter was lost in Barton’s skin. He smelt so familiar, like musky sweat and nothing else, untouched by the world around him. After missions Barton always brought back the metallic scents of gunpowder and blood, but on his days off it was like that violence got left behind and he was just Clint, just a silly smart-mouthed guy who liked high places and practical jokes. And both version were Phil’s.

Coulson wondered if he smelt the same. Were the differences that subtle? Had his body transformed on the outside as well? Was his skin smoother, his hair thicker, his muscles stronger, his blood hotter? When they kissed, did he feel like a stranger? Clint’s fingers dug into the back of his shoulder, his hips thrown up to meet Phil’s next thrust, and the older man decided things hadn’t changed that much.

He manhandled Clint by the hips, tilting him back so Phil could lift himself onto his knees, forcing Clint’s legs up against his chest. The archer growled and swore and thrashed his head about, and Phil couldn’t help smiling. He set his jaw, teeth bared almost viciously, and plunged deeper. Clint’s walls seemed to suck him in, clutching and suffocatingly hot. Phil’s heart felt like it was going to pound right out of his chest, his pulse loud and violent in his ears. He was sweating and his limbs felt strained and stretched, and it was goddamn fantastic.

“Phil, Phil,” Clint gasped, “Fuck, Phil, Jesus-”

He closed his hand over Clint’s, the two of them shuttling up and down the archer’s member faster now, Phil licking his lips as the other man tensed up. Clint’s brow furrowed, mouth falling open as he gave a huge moan and shuddered, release spurting over their combined fingers.

Coulson wrapped his sticky hand around Clint’s throat and thrust, hips jerking like engine pistons, until he fell off the edge with a muffled shout and Clint’s hands like shackles around his biceps.

The director fell off Clint with a sigh, trying to catch his breath. The archer shook out his limbs and curled against Phil, Coulson lifting an arm to hold him closer and stroking a hand down his back.

“You don’t have to stay. I’ll understand – the agency’s in a shambles, and I’ve got my own stuff to work out. You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

“Don’t be an idiot.” Clint sniffed, burying his face in the other man’s chest.

*****

When Coulson woke up, the bed was empty. He glanced around for Clint’s things and couldn’t see any trace of the archer. Phil felt relieved that the agent had listened for once, and sad that he was gone again. Clint was always good at cheering him up when shit got serious, and he needed that a lot lately. He showered and dressed carefully, thoughts lingering on the night before.

Coulson walked through their makeshift base towards his office and stopped at the sound of a familiar laugh. He backtracked, peering into the mess hall. Clint was sitting on the counter, his bow leaning against the cupboards, swinging his legs as Skye and Triplett laughed along with the joke. The archer perked up when he noticed Coulson.

“Hey boss!”

“Agent Barton. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Clint shrugged with a mischievous smile. “That’s me, always the unexpected.”

“It’s a good thing we’ve done away with the level system, because finding a handler who could tolerate that unpredictability would be nigh impossible.”

“I dunno, you could always volunteer for the job again. You didn’t seem to mind my hijinks.”

“Nah, AC’s all busy with Director stuff now.” Skye made a face.

“Damn Fury, selfishly dying and depriving me of a handler.” Clint shook his head mournfully.

“I’m sure he’d apologise if he wasn’t so dead.” Phil rolled his eyes.

“You never know,” Clint quirked his lips, “It seems like a pretty temporary condition around here.”

Melinda walked into the mess and paused, folding her arms over her chest. “Barton.”

“Maaaaaaay!” he jumped off the counter and tried to hug her, the woman dodging him easily, “How’s my favourite Zen warrior?”

“You could have warned me he was coming.” She drawled, glaring at Coulson.

“I remembered how much you love surprises.” He tried a grin.

“I think it’s great,” Triplett grinned, “We could use some more heavy-hitters.”

Skye nodded. “Yeah – I mean you’re one of the best field agents SHIELD had.”

“One of?” Clint said snottily.

“How about you show Skye just exactly how good you are, hmm?” Phil jerked his head towards the door, “Put the kids through their paces.”

“Alright. But only because I’m the best.”

Clint jogged back across the room and snatched up his bow.

“Show me what passes for a training range around here.”

Skye and Triplett led him out, the trio’s chatter fading down the hall. May shut the door behind them and gave Phil a disapproving look.

“What is he doing here?”

 

“He heard I was alive and came looking for me.”

“How did he know?”

“The SHIELD data dump Romanov uploaded, probably.”

“And you’re letting him stay?”

“Is that a problem?” he arched a brow.

Melinda clenched her fists. “He’s just so, so...annoying!”

“I’m aware. He thinks it’s part of his charm.”

“And how did he even find us? It doesn’t say much about our security.”

“He has his ways. Barton doesn’t operate like the other agents and you know it. As for _letting_ him stay, if you think you can give him an order he doesn’t want to follow, be my guest. If he wants to be here, he will be. We can’t stop him.”

“Did you tell him?” she dropped her voice.

Phil took a breath. “Yes.”

“And?”

“He didn’t seem to care.”

“Only because that boy doesn’t have a serious bone in his body. He’d laugh his way through the apocalypse.”

“He’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad! You try putting up with the _Mulan_ jokes.”

“You don’t put up with them. You’ve pummelled him multiple times. I think you secretly enjoy it.”

She scowled. “Just keep your toyboy out of my way.”

Coulson sighed. “May, Clint understands how dangerous this kind of...infection could be. Better than probably anyone on the planet. And he wants to stay, so maybe we should just see this as what it is: a desperately needed extra pair of hands and eyes.”

“I suppose I could use some backup, since you refuse to look after yourself. He can help me keep tabs on you.”

“I’m not a child who needs watching.”

“Aren’t you, Mr Jumps-into-the-Field?” she sneered.

“You might have a point. I’ll talk to him about helping.”

“As long as you both understand that if he starts cracking wise, I’m gonna pummel him again.”

“I’ll make it very clear.”

 

Coulson did actually get some work done before he went looking for Clint – after all, he had a fledgling agency to run. But truthfully he was glad for the excuse to get away from his desk and the soul-crushing news that kept pouring onto it. He found the archer working out, practicing his flips on the gym mats.

“I thought you were training with the others.”

He somersaulted to his feet. “They got tired.”

“But not you, evidently.”

“I’m antsy. When do we get to kill things, sir?”

“Not today, as far as I know.”

Clint growled and sauntered over, throwing his arm around Coulson’s neck. “Guess we’ll have to find some other way to calm me down then.”

“We should talk about this more, about what it means. Are you joining the team?”

“Thought that was pretty obvious.”

“I mean as an agent, not my...” he waved a hand vaguely.

“Hot young piece of ass?” the archer waggled his brows, “I’m down for missions, if you wanna give me something to do. But I think a break’s in order – we’ve got some catching up to do.”

Coulson smiled wryly. “Is that what the kids are calling it?”

Clint leaned in until his lips almost touched the older man’s ear. “We can call it whatever you like, _Director_.”

Phil suppressed a shiver and pulled away to face his mischievous agent. “Then May’s recruiting you to watch me, make sure my condition doesn’t deteriorate.”

Clint grimaced. “Phil-”

“It’s what we have to do now.” He said, voice almost pleading, begging Clint not to brush him off when he was so scared and he couldn’t tell anyone, not even Melinda.

“Okay. Sounds like you need someone fun around to make the situation less dire anyway. I’ll babysit you, between sex and target practice, but you’re gonna be fine.”

“I’m glad you’re so certain.”

“I’m a keen observer, remember?”

Phil’s face softened and Clint took the opportunity to lean in and kiss him.

“And I know you better than most. You’re my Phil.”

“Natasha might fight you on that.”

The archer laughed. “Bring it on! I haven’t kicked her butt enough recently.”

“Unfortunately she’s currently unavailable, but I can always call. She might make an exception if it’s a chance to beat you down.”

“Why is everyone so eager to hit me? Is it something about my face?”

“Yes – your mouth. You use it too much.”

Clint leered. “You don’t usually complain.”

Phil gave a frustrated sigh and grabbed the front of the other man’s jerkin, tugging him forward until their lips met with a crash. Clint scrambled to get a grip on his shoulders, bringing his chest flush against the director’s, and Coulson thought at least that was one way to shut him up.


End file.
